The town of Marshfield is as intimately associated with the name of Daniel Webster as is Abbotsford with Sir Walter Scott. It is a sparsely settled town on the south-eastern shore of Massachusetts. Mr. Webster’s first acquaintance with it dates from 1824. Both Mr. and Mrs. Webster were charmed with the situation of the Thomas Farm, as it was then called, and the grand views which it afforded of the ocean. For several summers the Websters were boarders in the family of Captain Thomas, and finally, in 1831, he became the owner of the farm by purchase. Then he began to make improvements, and by the lavish expenditure of money converted it from a homely farm to a fitting residence for a famous lawyer. Henceforth this was the home to which the thoughts of the great statesman turned when, weary and exhausted with his labors in the courts, the Cabinet or the Senate, he felt the need of rest. He delighted to array himself in a farmer’s rough garb, to stride over his own fields, and look after his cattle. He had not forgotten his early tastes, and reveled in the free and unconventional life of this seaside farm. He drank in health from the invigorating sea breezes, and always bore more easily the burden of public cares after a few days at Marshfield. “I had rather be here than in the Senate,” he said on one occasion to his son, while amusing himself with feeding his cattle with ears of corn from an unhusked pile lying upon the barn floor. Mr. Webster was a keen disciple of Isaac Walton, and spent many an hour with rod and line, when perhaps his thoughts were busy with some intricate political problem, or his mind was occupied with the composition of some speech now famous. To Mr. Harvey’s “Reminiscences” I am indebted for the following anecdote of Mr. Webster, and indeed for most that I have said about his country life: “Soon after Mr. Webster went to Marshfield he was one day out on the marshes shooting birds. It was in the month of August, when the farmers were securing their salt hay. He came, in the course of his rambles, to the Green Harbor River, which he wished to cross. He beckoned to one of the men on the opposite bank to take him over in his boat, which lay moored in sight. The man at once left his work, came over and paddled Mr. Webster across the stream. He declined the payment offered him, but lingered a moment, with Yankee curiosity, to question the stranger. He surmised who Mr. Webster was, and with some hesitation remarked: “‘This is Daniel Webster, I believe?’ “‘That is my name,’ replied the sportsman. “‘Well, now,’ said the farmer, ‘I am told that you can make from three to five dollars a day pleadin’ cases up in Boston.’ “Mr. Webster replied that he was sometimes so fortunate as to receive that amount for his services. “‘Well, now,’ returned the rustic; ‘it seems to me, I declare, if I could get as much in the city pleadin’ law cases, I would not be a wadin’ over these marshes this hot weather shootin’ little birds.’”